When I decided to host a class on Thursday evening as opposed to my regular Saturday morning, I thought I'd do something different.
I'm still choosing who I want to be in this yogi world. I'm still experimenting.
The idea had been playing on my mind, and when I learned it would be a Full Moon tomorrow, that sealed it. I opted for femininity. I opted for chaos and depth. Still, it felt a little bit of a joke. I was (and am still) so deep in my masculine, still so deeply yang dominant, the thought of me hosting a femininity practice seemed ludicrous.
Except I'm not really at a point in my life (or my practice) where I can only just be teacher. I'd rather learn alongside the nice people who join me in these practices.
I chose Playful Goddess Flow as my theme for tomorrow. I'm selfish, I'm using this opportunity to better sketch what it means for me to sit with the Great Mother and honor my divine intuition. So...what does it mean?
What do I need to focus on more today to no longer foster dis-ease and discrepancy in my being?
For the longest time, those things were not synonymous. And I spot myself sometimes, still, struggling with letting go without forsaking myself. It might seem obvious, but it's not. For me, and I suspect for many women, there's a need to be in control because that helps us feel safe. Except that leaves no room for trust.
Right now, I'm learning to trust. Others, but myself most of all. I'm learning there's power even when I, in the words of great Danes, let be.
Chitter-chatter noise. Demand of me, on me, under me. Everywhere all at once. I think another typically feminine trait (and this isn't to dismiss, generalize or disregard) is a tendency toward overavailability. Towards letting myself be consumed. If I can give of myself enough, maybe eventually, the world stops asking. Except of course it doesn't. Nor should it. I must learn to live in stride with the world, and that means taking time to honor my own sacred quiet.
There are times when I should give nothing of myself to no one because if I do, then eventually, there is nothing left to give. It's neither helpful nor smart to play at martyrdom, yet it's in the DNA of many women to do so.
I know, this is returning to a theme I wrote about recently. I struggle with compliments, as some people here will know. I struggle with receiving help because I can, and I'm scared of what might happen if I suddenly can't anymore. I've built an entire self on showing how much I can.
I'm still only just learning that letting someone help me doesn't contradict that.
Overly agreeable people generally do not fare well. It's a curveball, especially for women who, by our nature, tend to be more agreeable than men, but sometimes it's really not a bad idea to learn to shout into the void back off, you slimy motherfucker.
For the simple reason that the world is full of slimy motherfuckers who will not back off unless expressly (and often repeatedly) told to.
As a teenager, I didn't have such trouble looking these fuckers in the eye and meeting danger with a raised head, but I've gotten a bit older now. There is an open challenge in the world, constantly, to women who insist on being disagreeable. But then again, if it came easy, we wouldn't be talking about it.
I used to approach life in fragments. I think many of us do.
My boobs were for aching, hiding, wishing different. My womb, seemingly endlessly, for safeguarding. Much of myself, chips for barter. Now, I spend long hours in conversation with my naked body. What are you saying?
It's not easy for me to know. It's not obvious. But still, I've started negotiating my life as a whole lately. It makes things complicated. Really. It used to be much easier when I was just a talking head. Or at least, it still seems like it, from time to time.
This might not be overly coherent, but these are the things I'm taking into my Playful Goddess practice tomorrow. Surrender. Quiet. Trust. Strength. Wholeness. Not because it's particularly marketable, but because this is what I feel my body most needs right now. And I've lived long enough to know I can't be the only one here.
